


Oh My God, She's here!

by Equality_Divided



Category: 101 Dalmatians (1961), Disney Cartoons (Classic), Disney Princesses, Sleeping Beauty (1959)
Genre: 1300s, 1920s, Character Death, F/M, Murder, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-06 08:07:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20288191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Equality_Divided/pseuds/Equality_Divided
Summary: An anthology of the murders of some of the most iconic classic Disney characters.





	1. If she doesn't scare you, no evil thing will...

October, 24th, 1925:

The moon hangs dangerously close to the Earth on the night in question. Her power emanates, radiates, it is possible to feel her power under your skin when. She lowers her hands of light down towards the cobbles stones below, placing her palms on their damp cheeks. The cold grips the light and holds it there. They force natures nightly glow to meet the pretenders, the artificial light from the lamps that watch guard over the inhabitants of the street.

Children peer through the nets of the curtains to watch, drawn to power of an entity that commands the tides. Their eyes fixated, unblinking upon its hazy visage. The clocks tick behind their heads and yet their eyes strain harder. They are desperate to see the surface of the moon. If they blink the water rushes in, it crashes against their lashes and stings its salty venom. So they don't. At least for as long as they can.

The moon disappears behind a cloud. The children blink, the salt burns and they breath a sigh of relief as her grip loosens from their stomachs. Is she a wonder, a goddess, or a menace? 

The eyes peel themselves away from the street below, they know the street lamps will hold watch over them. Without the moons gaze the cobbles blush, in fact they practically sizzle under the spotlight. All this attention, its electrifying! It's practically voyeuristic! And soon enough the fog blooms into the late night air.

The best way to describe fog is like an invasion, the cause and effect between two neighbouring countries. The interrelated negotiations can take as long as they like, but eventually the chilly air meets the cobbles who have broken into a sweat nearly an hour since the rain descended. And then it creeps in. It curls its toes and slithers into the unsuspecting street. It's like all things designed by God, it's not discriminatory and it will infest even the most humble of streets while your children sleep. Where the lady with the poodle, and the strappy heels that were digging into the plump flesh of her ankle had trodden in the afternoon sun, the fog looms where she's stood to light a cigarette while her poodle urinated on the petunia's nearby.

Soon enough the moon reappears from behind the cloud. If we could see her face clearly it's quite obvious she would be scowling at the inconvenience. The glow of her hands gliding towards the ground where they struggle to find the cobbles she so desperately wants to feel, like ice being placed gently upon ones temple. The light gets trapped in the fog, she waves her hands around but yet it clings to the her like mask tied tight around a head, all she can do is fumble without her vision. 

The street is illuminated, a battle in the autumnal air, crisp and cool to the touch, ensues. Light encircles the swirls of fog like the moon herself has embroiled embellishments onto her unsightly blindfold.

Another cloud drifts aimless and the moon goddess's face is smothered once more. Yet the fog is still encased in light. Is it a spotlight? Must mother natures underbelly now be expected to perform as if upon a palladium?

The answer is the silence of the night.

Then a rumble, low, unthreatening, as if the industrial age were sat on a crate blowing upon a harmonica. It's melody unclear at first and uncanny, for until now all of mans creations have been stagnant while the humans sleep.

But a creature does not sleep at such an hour. How could they when a bed is not a bed unless the moons cousin cannot get to it through velvet curtains? Therefore, this creature is awake where children are tossing and turning and the champagne is pouring down the throat of young girls being propositioned by men whos children toss and turn. 

Day and night are a cycle and the individual must make strides to decide which side of the moon they wish to inhabit. The lady with the spaniel and her child in a pram, her dress flowing in viscose around her legs is a creature of the day. The creature who's motorcar is violating the sanctity of the cobble stones to defy pleasant visiting hours, is indeed, a creature of the night. She has chosen to live in the shallows. 

This is a woman who holds the heads of salacious young flappers, watching their pencil thin brows burrow together, and beats them ten fold. She kisses the man with the bowtie and the button about to burst, not because she wants to but because he might die if she doesn't, and if he looks longingly into her pit falls one might be forgiven for mistaking for eyes; she will poke her cigarette into his socket. They say the flapper and the whore are the future of our Godly society, that they are destroying the veil between morals and anarchy. The priest will fall to his knees while the whore lets the flaccid flag pole of infidelity droop in the air, they will both be outdone for the woman you are about to meet. She is a monster who has unanimously chosen to exist exclusively in the moonlight. 

The fog flies to the wind as her Panther De Vil sodomised the tranquility of the street. Artificial light flashed from window to window, but the inhabitant's of the street did not stir. 

A door was opened, a hinge rotated within itself, a stiletto met the night air. 

On the street corner stood a cat of the tabby description, its eyes of emerald stared unblinking at the headlights, transfixed, the figure stood tall and poised with the entirety of her weight distributed against the vehicle. The figure was slim, skinny even, made even skinner when she took off the volumes of fur that encased her skeleton. The fur itself was unevenly patched, the variety of furs and each of their patterns had been stitched together with an expert hand. It was as if she had quilted her self in the textures of every furred species that had made it to the ark. Steely greys attached to calicos which cohabited next to a soft pelt; black, infested with flecks of brown. It cascaded to her mid thigh, beginning the reveal of the garment beneath. Glimmering in the eyes of the cat, the black beads rustled when she allowed her bones to rattle. And rattle they did as her spine protruded under the skin. Her ankles looked weak enough to snap in her glistning black heels. It was as if the image of a flapper had been distorted, altered just enough to create a skeptical concern in the back of the mind of those who were unfortunate enough to meet her. 

Her face was what distinguished her from her peers, it aged her, distorted the image of a woman who must have still been young. Yet, her face.. it was sunken and had grey flesh stretched over her features. She was a painstakingly thin woman who owned thin eyebrows and even thinner lips, the lips were painted red but it wasn't immediately clear they were there. And her eyes were dark, black, hollow. They were pits with which emotion could not escape or enter. Beads that twinkled in her head. But perhaps if nothing else her hair was beautiful? it was sleek and shiny under the lamp and conjoined with everything else shiny on her to create the effect of someone who was alive. The blonde locks were styles in the finger waves that characterized the era. The illusion was complete. 

Each movement was calculated, she was performing for the goddess above. Her eyes drifted from the cat to the sign above its head - 'Belvedere Road'. If there was an emotion she felt for such a confirmation, she did not express it in the usual methods. In fact her response was to slowly draw a cigarette from her fur and set it alight. 

The smoke curled from her lips and floated to meet the fog all around her, wafting around her to create a performance of gases. Her heels brushed some shrivelled leaves out of her way, crushing others. The night was still if not for the sound of her abandoning her monochromatic car parked in the middle of the road. 

Like a hyena approaching a den, she advanced.

It was the only house of the street that showed signs of life. It's exterior perfectly matching the property to its left and to its right. But this one was alight, the room to the front of the house was dazzlingly bright, it's light tumbled from its window which was slightly ajar. The petunia's in the font garden were likely dying or dead in the autumn but in the dark it was quite unclear which ones had already passed.

The hyena stalked the house from the curb, smoke haloing around her head like a veil of misery about to erupt from Pandora's box. The dark orbs of her eyes followed the dancing shadows separated by their waterfall of cream curtains. The curtains were embroiled from top to bottom with little birds flying over berries and leaves, some had little nuts in between their beaks. The smaller figure in the window keeled over, performing the art of laughing. The hunter advanced onwards. 

The door had a small, circular, stain glass window with another bird, a dove most likely, flying through a swirl of coloured glass. A moment of liberation caught. Trapped. She grasped the door handle and twisted it. 

The door swung open with a slight squeak, but it became clear that the larger of the figures, a man, had begun to play a piano. A jolly tune was flying from the front room, and while the man played the woman sat on the piano and hummed along as the song begun. 

'Cruella.. De Vil... Cruella... De Vil, if she doesn't scare you.. no evil thing will!', the mans voice was so deep and joyful it raptured the air with the woman's laugh. 

'Oh, Roger.. you really mustn't! She's a fright! the devil incarnate herself and you know you mustn't mess with the devil, you really mustn't!' 

The man's tune continued and the woman listened intently, slowly the intruders head turned towards an elderly woman hunched by the stairs. She imagined it must be on a small stool she sat but between her plump figure and even plumber twill dress it was really impossible to be sure. Her chest rose and fell ever so slightly, asleep as peaceful as a baby. Her maids cap had fallen to the flood and spittle had collected in the winkles of her mouth. She was a woman who had clearly lived a life of laughter, the wrinkles are always an indication of how jovial a life has been. 

The revolver was pulled from the inner lining of the fur and the bullet was between her eyes. 

How the old lady slumped further down the wall, a sheen of red gliding down the back of her head. 

Roger was nearing the end of the song, his wife still perched on the piano, she twirled a short strand of her brunette hair between her fingers, her face was beaming like a flower in May. The happiness, the love, the neighbours often said in the aftermath how the loss of such pure unadulterated love made their hearts ache. 

The fur and the gun appeared in the doorway, the succession of actions were quick and brutal. The revolver was lifted:

'Anita! Darling!' The shot followed swiftly after. 

Anita's body thumped onto the carpet. Cruella did not care to look at the state of the body, instead she turned her attention to Roger. 

His mouth was agape, the corner of his mouth twitched as he froze in motion. His body was caught between cradling the body of his wife and leaping through the window, instead he did nothing. His eyes fixed upon her expressionless face. 

'Anita. Anita. Anita' He muttered to himself, unable to look away.

'Roger... Darling! Roger!'

'Anita. Anita.. Anita.. Anita' The desperation creeped into his voice, the weeping reached his whole body as he began to shake 'Anita... Anita...'

Roger finally made to move towards his wife when the trigger was pulled again. The second body thudded against the carpet, the couple intertwined in death.

Cruella took a long drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke around the room as she went to take a look at her victims. Both their eyes were open and staring into nothingness. Rogers index finger twitched and then he was still.

She stepped over them both, pulling her fur closer to her skeletal frame, glancing continuously over at the bodies as if they were about to reanimate. She looked at their photos together; a birthday, their wedding, the pair huddled together on some grass, the pair hugging their Dalmatians. Below the frames were novel both completed and forsaken.

It was then that she turned towards the bodies again and saw the Dalmatians nudging and whimpering for their owners to awaken. Cruella looking around wildly, marched through the doorway, throwing a ceiling light out of her way she pulled open the door that seemingly led to a cupboard under the stairs - there she found a basket of puppies. Slowly, so slowly her ankles cracked, she leant down and glided the bones across the back of one of the puppies, scooping it up and fitting it inside her fur coat before standing once more and marching out of the house. 

She cared not to close the door behind her, let the daring's be found easier.. lest the beastly dogs eat them. Her heels clacked across the pavement once more but the fog had lifted considerably. She stopped, snapped her head in the direction of a house across the road. It's lights were out but Cruella could feel eyes on her, eyes skulking in the dark. She continued on towards her car. 

The cars red seats were cold when she returned, she clawed the puppy from her coat to toss it into the glove compartment. Then, without delay the devil departed. 

. . 

In the dark dining room that looked upon the cobbled street, crouched a woman shaking from every limb. She was mousy in every conceivable way minus the ears and tail, thus it would be understandable to assume she would have the same instincts. However, she was dedicated to not being a mouse by nature. 

The events she witnessed played over and over in her head as she crawled towards the telephone, her curlers accidentally hitting the corner of the table. 

Milk, it was milk she been getting when she heard the car screech down the road. And it was natural curiosity that caused her to look out the window at the moon, it was so lovely in the sky. It made her feel safe. 

She could never imagine seeing what she had seen as a woman of her temperament. A woman with two children tucked in bed upstairs. How could she be aware of what the shadows of bodies being shot looked like? Yet she was sure when she saw the third figure enter the frame, her silhouette clear in the windows spotlight. 

Standing, her milk sloshing down her arm and into the fabric of her dressing gown. She had got it for Christmas the year prior! That was when she saw the outline of a women wandering across the house of Anita and Roger. Well she wasn't a nosy neighbour but how could she resist watching the lovely childless couple dancing and singing - breathing life into the street of suburban mothers and children that ran them ragged. Of course she'd noted how Anita had worked while Roger stayed at home playing his piano all day, but she didn't like to be a busy body. 

Her hand reached, shaking uncontrollably, for the phone. She was shaking so vehemently she had to stop dialing in order to calm herself. As she dialled the number for the police she could see the face, gaunt, crooked, the face of evil that was so lifeless it belonged under the earth. Her hand fell upon her cross around her neck. The phone dialled. The face of evil was looking at her. There was a voice on the line. She could hear dogs barking. The face. She wished Anita would shut those dogs up. The black eyes. Why was the moon so bright?

'Mummy?' 


	2. Sleep my beauty!

October, 29th, 1336

'Look at the beautiful colours my darling!' The girl said as such as she watched the leaf tumble to the earth.

It looked like it had been embraided by the ebbing light of autumn, its golden appearance flashed from one side to another as it fell. She watched with such an intensity that its refection in her eyes caught the very moment the breeze snatched it away. Without missing a second of action, the girl turned to witness the leaf's corrected course away from the clearing, in which she sat, and over the cliff edge to a place her eyes could not follow. 

The moment the leaf's curling edges vanished, she pulled strands of blonde hair from her face, the strings getting caught between her fingers, before looking upwards towards the golden canopy. Above her head lay a boy on his stomach, his legs dangling off the branch behind him in a froglike fashion.The boy had seemingly been watching the leaves dying procession too. He was the most enjoyable to watch when he was blissfully unaware of it; away from the reams of eyes he regressed from the man into the boy; a figure of pronounced responsibility and authority had melted away to reveal a livelihood of adventure. It surprised her that she found this endearing, as if she was uncovering a core only she had made possible every time he held he hand or kissed her gently. His focus was aimed across the clearing, she admired the way his jaw tensed as he fell into concentration, and how his mousey hair fell into his face yet still escaped his notice. Her heart fluttered still in her every waking moment as she lent to head against the tree bark behind her. 

His concentration, in turn, turned to her. The smile that flashed across his face caused her to flush with warmth,

'I can see the sun setting through the trees!' he called down, his voice surprisingly animated in contrast with it's deep tone. 'You should come up and see, join me!'. 

The girl sighed a sigh that released more air than malice; she focused her vision across the clearing. A patchwork of leaves in varying shades of decay stretched beyond. Trees of varying types created an asymmetrical landscape around them, in fact the clearing was the only respite from the trees looming gaze. She often imagined they were alive but simply very slow, in coordination with their ancient bulks, and they whispered to each other in a chain of communication that covered the whole forest.

Looking through the old watchers, her eyes were indeed as expectedly blue in conjunction with the blonde of her hair. Just that morning her mother had held her cheeks in her fingers and gazed into them, where hers were faded and as deep as the moment the ocean meets the sky, Aurora's emanated a wave of calm. A calm that harbors an intensity that's contained between the oceans and the golden flecks that breaks it apart. Her mother had stroked her face and then ran her fingers through her hair, her wedding ring had felt cold against her scalp, yet she allowed herself to fall into her mothers embrace. 

Aurora wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers tracing where her mothers hands had been weakly placed. A wave of emotion compressed itself against her mind, against her own skull. It was crashing against her lobes in an attempt to open her head and leave her hollow, hollow and unthinking. 

A portrait hung from the stone wall of one of the many galleries her families castle was endowed with. The portrait was of an ocean wave meeting a cliff as its face crumbled into the belly of its nemesis. She always felt as if it were a private moment between evil and its bastardised victim. The picture surly must have been engineered to make her feel as if the water was rushing into her every limb; for she felt how hardened and domineering the wave must be to crumble such a majesty of rock. A sister portrait would have depicted the carcass of stone sinking into its depths. Aurora imagined she was herself the cliff, she was the cliff in that moment and her own aquatic undoing.

The leaf drew her into the realm of the present as it fluttered before her. Without the wind to intervein this one settled upon the wooded earth. 

Looking up once more, the suns glow radiated through the canopy, the leaves themselves forming a tapestry of colour. A cathedral dome of red and oranges, yellows and pinks opened up above their heads, it was transcendent. Glowing colours danced around them, like light bouncing around a hall filled exclusively with mirrors. The blue of her eyes faded leaving only the gold flecks to be emboldened by the performance around them. 

Her eyes fluttered shut and only the bird song penetrated her enclosure. She felt the suns thumbs across her face, warm, inviting, it was holding her like her mother held her. The woodland faded from her memory, the gold, the earth, every worm beneath her feet or leaf welcoming its demise. She was in the temple of nature and her arms of protection enveloped her. The air felt thinker with every breath she took but the peachy folds of her eyelids fluttered to a close to where the lights could not hold her. 

Aurora noticed it first. Strings of smoke invading the orchestra of lights. First the violins went quiet, then the trumpets, the cellos, even the conductor's performance collapsed into an interlude. The clearing was a haze of smoke that filled the orifices of the trees. The archaic guardians had lapsed their watch. She awoke to a renaissance scene of destruction, a biblical depiction of the end of her world. 

The Boy, Prince Philip, called down for Aurora to run and make hast as he clambered the limbs of the great oak whereas they made an attempt to escape from the curtain of darkness that had seeped from the pits of hell. 

The air was thick with smoke, it was dizzying as well as disorienting. The world spun in shades of grey. 

Tears welled in her eyes as her lungs heaved and spluttered for an ounce of air. 'Please' she begged. Her head was pounding, the ocean so volatile in her mind as her vision faltered. Was it the smoke or something worse? All she was certain of was the impending darkness that surrounded them. 

Philip collapsed beside her, only his panting was audible. 

How had the smoke descended so quickly?

Aurora was conscious of the tears down her face as she sunk to her knees beside him. Huddled, the taste of smoke felt like charcoal upon her tongue. She was sure it was seeping under her skin, every crevasse, for it was all consuming and was absorbing all they were. Her eyes scanned the darkness, only the swirling of the velvet air was visible where Mother Nature's performance had been but moments ago. 

Behind her eyes she could see the sea. The sea. Its spittle sprayed against the inside of her eyelids. She was the sea. Everything she was or had been was melting and returning to the water. Her flesh was damp and soiled as if all that was left was for the puddle of herself to flow off the cliff edge and into a stream . Maybe she would navigate through the dark to feel herself drag rocks underneath her stomach, pull fish in her currents, before enjoying the calm as Aurora the girl - or Aurora the cliff - made contact with the bubbling oceans. 'Let me sink' she thought, the voice in her head gasping to be heard.

It was a flicker. Nothing but a flicker through the trees. No, she couldn't see the trees through the abyss. A speck perhaps? A savior? Would the hands of the angels be as soft upon her shoulders as her mothers? 

Just as she didn't think she could see the flicker anymore another appeared beside it. Then another, and another. Fireflies, she thought. Surly it must by fireflies here to guide our way. The flickers continued to burst into life all around her. It was the encore of life. 

The lights bounced in her eyes as she looked in wonder, her lungs were heaving but her mind was so clear. 

Suddenly, a light began to descend. How she hoped it was her angel coming to carry her to her bed. It was fast, it was alive, it was impending and bright like a shooting star. The star was alight, the star was bleeding through the darkness and it was fire! 

The fireball tumbled towards her, Aurora heaved herself across the canopy floor as the explosion of sparks and embers erupted beside her. The forest was burning. 

It was so clear to her now, flames danced through the trees like pixies of menace as the orchestra of light resumed. 

'Philip!', her voice was a wheeze with only the remnants of charcoal regurgitating. 

She turned to see only a bonfire where her love had been, his hands pertruding from beneath the remains of the fireball. She clambered closer to him, the fireball was indeed a branch.. and beneath it was her Prince, her savior. She'd waited for the angels too long and now he was alight. 

She could smell him, the smell of his flesh copulated with the smoke. She heaved with emotion and desperation. The forest was collapsing, the dome of the cathedral was to become her tomb. 

Time slows down in the eye of the storm. The mind has time to think, racing with idea of escape and self reflection. She thought of who she was; a girl who had slept for so many years would be reconciled with the fate of sleep eternal. That would be legacy enough in its sense of poetic justice. 

'Mother'

Above her, the sky snaked through the wisps of soot arising. The sun had followed its sanctity and given way to the night. A couple of stars twinkled in recognition of her place among them as marked and ready..

'My dear!' the voice was only synonymous with a gargoyle.

Aurora looked upon the figure creeping through the flames. It was disturbing in its appearance too, lanky and malnourished, it dragged the pelt of a bear across its back. As it got closer she could see it was a woman, a woman with the bear blood.. fresh blood.. trickling among the beads that enshrined her mantle of bones. 

'Oh my dear! You do look dreadful!', a laugh rattled through the silence of the desolate landscape. 

The thing - the woman, knelt down before the girl. Auroras blond hair was sticky with sweat as the beast ran her claws through it. The invader's hair itself was also blonde in a style must peculiar in its waves most unnatural. Her skeletal hands held her cheeks firmly while the beady eyes of the monster made contact, burrowing into her soul. 

The woman placed her hand inside the pelt and let it emerge holding a metal contraption. Pointed to the skies, she let loose an almighty canon fire that rattled her brain and sent a spark of red into the air. 

'W-What was that?' Aurora finally managed to splutter words into the abyss. 

A shadow appeared through the canopy, it's large visage caused the smoke to dissipate while the flames continued to crackle and burn around them. Trees began to snap into fragments before returning to the earth in a similar fashion as her lover had. 

Aurora made an attempt to rise to her feet, however, the woman pointing the contraption swivelled; the cold metal was ice in a furnace as it collided with her cheek. Her face burst with heat as she sunk once more to her knees. 

The shadow lowered itself through the trees, leaves and flames alike fell upon the two individuals as it became clear Aurora was in the company of not one, but two beastly beings. 

The underbelly of the dragon crashed down, but as it did it began to shrink and contort. It limbs twisted and popped while the woman gaped with wonder upon the transformation of the dragon into a woman too. 

Screams erupted from the girls mouth; her nails clawed into the soil as the world blurred into a field of flames. 

Horns protruded from her skull and her features, cut sharp like glass, appeared in the eyes of the child as she was levitated by her hair. The first of the women squealed in joy as Maleficent held the girl high. The thrashing of her legs did little to quell the beastly woman's sneer. 

Cut from marble Maleficent was a statue of malice, carved and sculped, she had long since had the makings of warmth chipped away. Finally, Aurora dared look into her captors eyes. Her own her wet while the beast's were victorious, emeralds twinkled while her lips aflame in red, emboldened by the glowing translucence of her skin. A woman without physical flaws but at the sacrifice of a heart, or soul. It was monstrous and tainted. The child's nerve faltered. 

She felt the ground welcome her. The world was dizzying once more, how she wished for the ocean of her mind to lay waste to this desecrated monument to the afterlife she was now condemned. Her vision flicked around her, to her left stood the woman, more feral than mortal, to her right: the beast that visited her dreams and prophesized her vanquish. All around them the fire lay waste to life and nature, she felt the screams of her guardian trees berating against her skull. 

The contraption fell upon her head and her limbs slumped against the earth. 

. . .

His hand had felt so warm in hers that morning. The morning dew made the hem of her dress damp around her ankles but her focus was shifted as soon as he pulled her into a run. The pair ran giggly, the essence of youth erupting from them, into the woodland. 

He had pressed his lips against hers and drew her into him, he had smelled of fern from the earth, and a musk. His skin was damp from the run, she ran her fingers across his neck to draw him closer. She felt the world fade into smoke for his lips, how soft his lips were, had a thousand ways to tell her of his love. 

Birds had erupted from the trees, a quilt of black speckles smothering the sky. 

He had peeled his jacket away and lifted his shirt over his head. She had giggled at the sight of his hair ruffled in the different directions of the compass. But soon enough his lips had been on hers again and even the trees ceased to exist. 

She remembered the way he had lain her carefully upon his jacket, her blonde hair a halo upon the red fabric. His hand explored the inside of her thigh, the tickling sensation caused a laugh to escape her lips. His lips met hers and their laughs melted into the other. 

Flashes across her memory of skin upon skin, his hands of her waist, hers on his back. A leaf had been stuck to his palm as he buried himself within her. 

She felt bound to him and she knew he felt bound to her, under the watch of Mother Nature and under the regulations of God Almighty. She was his and he was hers. 

The world was in darkness once more when the hallucinations gave way to reality. 

. . . 

She was statuesque, a goliath bust in the shape of a woman. A witch. 

The girl was levitated onto the ashen remnants of a tree, its core had been hollowed to allow for a body - or a carcass. She lay asleep, her chest rising gently in intervals. Blood trickled down her temple; it mixed with her hair to create clumps of a sticky unification of blonde hair among the red. 

'Oh darling, what now?' the feral woman shrieked, the depth of her voice reverberated to every corner of the clearing. 

Maleficent did not move, her gaze hovered upon the face of the girl. What a pretty little thing she was, even at the tender age of nineteen. 

Her black dress draped down her figure, pooling across the leaves and soot. Creeping across the forest floor, leaves gathering under her black mass, she extended a pale hand towards the tree trunk. It shone under the moon light that pooled through the barren openings in the canopy - an indication of its new desecrated status. 

How could she lay a hand upon the child? This angel of light, she was the pang in her chest, her last source of humanity. Her finger found the tussle of bloodied hair. It glistened like rubies across her scalp. The witch bend down and planted a kiss upon the head of the girl. 

Cruella lulled with a cigarette between her teeth, smoke rising from the corners of her lips to veil her expression. Her face was contorted in annoyance, her foot tapped upon the matted leaves. 

Embers still burned in the trees, and every once in a while a flaming leaf would make its final decent. 

Stroking the head of the girl, and muttering word into her ear.. the knife was extracted from a sleeve and plunged into her heart. Blood pooled around the knife, and when it was removed, it pulsated across her dress. It smeared into the golden fabric. 

Maleficent lifted her head towards what had been a ceiling of light but a few hours ago. Her emeralds fixed upon the sky above she set the trunk alight. A tear from a statue rolled down her cheek as the flames glowed bright before her, and the smell of a burning princess filled the air. 

Smoke wafted into the sky once more, the execution had succeeded. 

Maleficent backed away from the body, her body crumpling as she registered her actions. Her child. Her child she had born from her own womb now burning back into the ground from whence we must all return. She tumbled towards the ashes, her shrieks of a wounded beast emanating from her lips as they twisted into emotions. She could feel her heart splintering, how she thought it was withered and gone, but she could feel it... she felt so much , waves of emotion washed over her as life being born again, she didn't notice the feral demon behind her. Cruella's bony hands plummeted the witch into the flames. 

The flames gripped the stone façade. Maleficent leapt across the body of Aurora; shrieking across the clearing before crumbling into the dirt. Her body cindering, motionless, mother and daughter decimated to the flames of hell. 

The moon faded behind a cloud and the rattling of bones and beads slithered into the night.


End file.
